


Play It Again, Q

by SuprSingr



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Basic AF but that's okay, Love Confessions, M/M, OR IS IT, Post-Episode: s03e22 All Good Things..., Self-Indulgent, Unrequited Love, keysmash alien race, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23589484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuprSingr/pseuds/SuprSingr
Summary: Picard finally gets some well-deserved sleep in the midst of a long, diplomatic mission. Until he doesn't.
Relationships: Jean-Luc Picard & Q, Jean-Luc Picard/Q
Comments: 11
Kudos: 124





	Play It Again, Q

**Author's Note:**

> Shame can't touch you at two in the morning.

"Computer, lights."

The room lent itself to shadow, the bed only discernible from the faint glow of stars outside his cabin window. With a tired sigh, Jean-Luc sat his half-empty cup of tea on the nightstand and pulled the covers back. 

Within minutes, he was comfortable, already well on his way to drifting off after an unusually long and taxing shift filled with constant, boisterous social obligation. The Tpofgon were an excitable and needy race, feeling the weight of fatigue only one to two times every earth month and not very understanding of "human proclivities," but with more than a few resources the Federation were quite invested in. Not for the first time, he was grateful to Dr. Crusher for intervening and commanding that he get some rest.

Content in the knowledge Number One could handle the effusive diplomats for the next six hours, he fell asleep.

And woke to the knowledge he was not alone.

Blinking wide-eyed into the darkness, he was careful to keep his breathing even and his body still. Behind him, drawers opened and closed quietly, items thumped, the rattle of what was no doubt his desk chair alerting him to the intruder's location. If there was indeed only a single intruder.

Who would come into his quarters? How would they get in? Only select members of the bridge and medical staff could override the captain's lock. Could it be the Tpofgon? For what purpose? They were toeing the line of uncharted space by being out here. Could it be a new enemy? Could it be—

"What impressive paranoia you have, Jean-Luc. Of course, I knew you were imaginative, but it's a different sort of thing to see it demonstrated." Paper ruffled. "Your thoughts are quite loud."

All the tension that had built up in his captive muscles released in an explosive sigh. "Q."

"That's right."

With another gust of breath through his nose, he sat up. Q in his usual captains reds was aglow in lamplight, framed by the few books and padds on his desk, one of his heftier collections held aloft in his hands. Q smiled gently at him. "Mon Capitaine."

It had been seven months since the anomaly. Seven months since the Continuum let humanity apparently off the hook for the time being. Two years ago, Jean-Luc would have demanded he leave, or sought answers in as aggressive a manner as he dared take with an all-powerful alien. Now, he sat groggily in bed, blinking at the entity in soft confusion. Q let him, flipping idly through the book with that inscrutable mask he always wore these days. 

Jean-Luc's body still sunk like a warm stone into the bed, enough for him to know it was likely still the middle of the night for him. It was far better timing than Q normally had, infinitely superior to him popping up during an emergency rescue mission or in the middle of a domestic spat, but still not the most ideal of circumstances. He wondered if Q made a point of being a nuisance or if it was all just a series of horrid, cosmic coincidences.

Finally, he managed to summon the obvious question. "What are you doing here?"

Q's mouth twisted slightly as he stared into the book. "Well, I did tell you I'd be dropping by now and again."

"It's late."

Q hemmed and hawed a moment, affecting consideration. At times, everything he did seemed an affectation. Jean-Luc supposed, for a shapeshifter with a true form and mind presumably non-humanoid and unknowable to the Federation, everything was. "Is it? I never could wrap my head around your primitive human sleep cycles. Especially on your little starships. Seems everyone just loses consciousness whenever and wherever they please. There isn't any enforced 'night time' aboard, or 'after hours' in any of your entertainment facilities. And you've certainly been awake for much longer than, oh, the pitiful Dr. Crusher might otherwise recommend." Without moving his head a millimeter, his eyes flicked dark and intent to his. "Sixty-three hours must be a record."

Jean-Luc swallowed. "Not everyone on board is human, Q."

"No." Q watched him. "But you are."

"These are hardly usual circumstances."

"Oh, indeed not, but then you have been staying up later than normal these days, haven't you? Playing cards, getting drinks, kissing females."

"What is it you want, Q? I know you didn't drop by just to comment on my sleeping habits."

The entity stared. His body and face were as if cast in stone, but Jean-Luc still got the impression of a flicker across his fathomless eyes. Abruptly, Q shut the book. "No, of course not," he muttered. He smiled. "Just a little routine check-up on my favorite ingrates. Making sure everything is running smooth as can be. I'd hate for you to have saved humanity only to turn around and throw all your hard work out the proverbial porthole."

Jean-Luc tensed up again. "Is there some danger we haven't picked up on?"

Q waved a hand. "No, no. Everything's perfectly boring." He swayed a bit, raising an eyebrow at him. "You know, there doesn't always have to be a crisis for me to visit, Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc observed him right back. "No, not always. Often it is simply your presence that is the crisis."

Q's smile gained new depth, warming by several degrees. Blinking, flicking his eyes briefly back and forth, he made a show of stepping around his desk and stretching his arms out. "I might argue the opposite." He came to stand by Jean-Luc's bed, tucking his hands together at his front. "The way you keep trying to expire on me. What is it with you mortals and dying?"

"It comes with the job description," Jean-Luc replied drolly. Q continued to stand over him, his features barely discernible in the dark. Several seconds were passed this way, in this staring, before Jean-Luc had to look down. He ran a hand over the blanket, smoothing out the creases over his knee. "I never did thank you," he said, subdued. "For your actions that day."

"Which day?" Q asked innocently.

"I think you know."

"I'm most certainly sure I do not. I've extended my most benevolent of hands so many times to you by now, I can hardly narrow it down to a single instance without... a hint."

Jean-Luc grunted. A few more seconds went by before he could manage an answer. "The day I was shot." He rolled his eyes up and to the side. "The day you told me you were God."

A quiet laugh. "What are you talking about?" Jean-Luc's head snapped up to look at him. Q's eyes were sparkling. "You're speaking nonsense, my dear. More than usual... A symptom of sleep-deprivation, no doubt."

Jean-Luc stared another moment, then looked back down with a slight smile. "Yes. Yes, no doubt." 

It occurred to him a moment too late what Q had called him, but when it did, his eyes narrowed. His _dear_. What to make of it? Ever since Data had made that comment of his being Q's "beloved pet," there had been a note of bother lingering ever-present at the back of his mind. Q was ridiculous, immature, irresponsible, cold and apathetic. He flipped freely between being a bratty child too used to getting his way and something ancient, sinister and nauseating in its composure and immensity. He had learned that Q could be patient, could even be something close to kind, enough so that Jean-Luc didn't know what to think of their relationship anymore. Whether he personally was playing the role of mentor, student, ambassador, enemy, _parent_ or reluctant friend to the entity.

He had to admit, he had begun to think they might be friends — true friends — at least by some societys' understandings of the concept. There had been moments in the medium between life and death on that operating table and at the end of their latest (and with any luck, final) trial that things had felt almost companionable, if stilted and distant. Distant in a way that, he realized now, things hadn't been between them years ago, back when Q fell naked onto his bridge and called him the closest thing he had to a friend. Much had happened since then. A lot had changed. He didn't feel that he understood Q anymore, and with this strange wall erected between them now, he wasn't sure he ever would.

Unless, perhaps, he asked. He pursed his lips, considering. His hands folded in his lap.

"Tell me," he began, a little gruff, "what... what is this? What are... we?" Q said nothing, so he elaborated, taking a short breath to clear a bit of the fog from his thoughts. "Eight years ago, I might have said we were enemies. The Enterprise a mere obstacle in the way of your desires, or a toy for your amusement. I know now that we've apparently been 'on trial' at the behest of the Continuum, but you can hardly claim that your repeated presence here is because they care. You tried to claim Riker as a Q for the benefits of his humanity, but you have Ms. Rogers, now, as a representative of what we are, so I can't wrap my head around what else you might want, or what might require these visits of yours. After all, I seem to recall you telling me that we're... in particular, I... am not that important." He looked up, slightly smirking.

Q breathed out. Slowly, he shook his head. "The trial never ends, you fool," he mumbled in that grave, imperious way of his. "Do you forget so easily? Like it or not, your meager species will always have the Continuum's all-seeing, all-knowing eyes on them, thanks to you. They in fact care very much. You should feel honored."

"That wasn't my question."

Q hummed, unhappy. "No, I suppose it was not." He stared at the bed for a long time, his lips tight. Suddenly, he met his eyes and said with mocking sweetness, "Am I unwelcome? After all these years? I've never known you to be so cruel." His eyes narrowed. "Oh wait. I have."

Jean-Luc's hackles rose for the first time tonight. "I didn't mean any offense, Q. I was only curious." He pushed himself up straighter, trying to twist himself into a less vulnerable position while still in his pajamas. "And I will not be accused of cruelty by a being who has frozen my crewmembers, threatened execution on my late chief of security in the form of a penalty box, allowed eighteen of my crew to die, tried to force me to choose between the lives of my closest friends and the life of the woman I loved— _I could go on!_ "

Q scoffed, sneering down at him. "All this pageantry over death! Death, death, death, it's all you ever talk about. I _froze_ them, Picard. I could have simply vanished them. Wiped them clean from the very fabric of existence so that even their mothers didn't remember them. It was no different from when you set your phasers to stun. I knew they would survive then, just as I knew the penalty box would remain merely a means of gaining cooperation. Not that I kept up that little charade for long anyhow. Calling your cushy starship a penalty box..." He threw his head back with a performative roll of his eyes. "Please. I could have stuck her in an actual box, no more than two feet on all sides, floating free in the cold vastness of space. I could have stuck her at the center of a star, or in an endless series of caves from the ice age of your own planet. Instead she was left free to wander and lounge and flirt with officers far exceeding her rank and _age_. It was positively tender-hearted of me, not that anyone ever gave me any credit. 

"And since you've brought it up a second time, let me be very clear." He leaned down over Jean-Luc, caging him in with his arms on either side of him on the bed and his considerable presence looming mere inches above him. His cold eyes demanded absolute attentiveness, and Jean-Luc was powerless against denying them. "It was not I who killed those eighteen of your crew—it was you. Your pride, your arrogance, your incompetence. You were their captain. The choices you make and the consequences that come with them are no fault of mine, I promise you, and I'm sure you wouldn't have lasted this long in charge of a Federation class starship without being fully aware of the weight that comes with that position."

Jean-Luc stared at him, contemplative. "So you admit having me risk my loved ones in Sherwood Forest, clad in green _tights_ and with a feathered hat, was on the crueler side of things."

Q, surprisingly, wavered. He drew back a bit, turning his face away. "It was, perhaps... not the grandest moment of my existence."

Jean-Luc softened. It was no little feat to get a self-proclaimed god to admit to a mistake. "I understood all that already, Q," he spoke carefully into the widening gap between them. "We've known each other a long time, at least from my own limited mortal perspective. I've had plenty of time to think these things through. You may be kin to chaos, but you are not entirely bereft of restraint, and I do recognize that. I simply wished to point out your hypocrisy. Now, we could spend all night defending ourselves, or you could answer my damned question already."

Q remained, a shadowed, hovering figure over him, staring off into nothing. Once again, Jean-Luc was inclined to liken him to a statue.

Much had happened. A lot had changed. A swelling of sad gratitude and a note of fondness compelled him to lay a hand on Q's forearm now. It hardened beneath his grasp, becoming more like stone. "I didn't ask because I wanted you to leave. I asked because I was hoping that, sometime when I wasn't paying attention, we might have become friends."

That snapped Q out of his stupor. He looked at him now, startled, looking less the terrifying alien and more the child. "You can't possibly mean that," he whispered, eyes round and urgent. "That's terribly out of character for you, Jean-Luc."

He shrugged. Smiled kindly. "Blame it on the sleep deprivation," he joked mildly.

All traces of frigidity melted out of the entity, returning that earlier warmth in his eyes and smile. In fact, now that Jean-Luc's eyes had adjusted better to the dark, there was almost something burning about him now, something no less intense in his expression as he swayed to the left, and then forward, and then, finally, to the left again, where he perched himself on the bed, freeing Jean from the prison of his arms. 

Once he was settled, their thighs packed together and shoulders brushing, Q spoke. "You asked what we are," he mumbled, the words only rendered audible by their closeness. "There are a lot of different answers to that question. I could say that I am... your judge, or even your lawyer, now. Your guide, or... simply an ally. A nuisance, I'll grant, since it is late. I suppose I could call us friends, if you like. But you also asked what _this_ is, why I regularly insist on gracing you with my magnificence, and in light of that, those answers wouldn't be entirely honest."

Jean-Luc swallowed and didn't know why. "What does that mean?"

For the longest time, Q was silent. His was a warm weight beside him, tall and imposing, but without breath and with little movement. He wasn't stone this time, at least, as his fingers tangled together, almost in a fidget. 

Then, "It means I'm in love with you."

Now, Jean-Luc felt himself the statue. He only just managed to keep from shouting, choking the impulse back with an ugly, wet noise. "What?" he instead croaked a moment later.

Q seethed, suddenly vibrating, barely keeping form. He kicked his legs up, recrossing them over the bed and throwing his head over to grin maliciously at him. "Don't expect me to repeat such a humiliating statement. You know exactly what I said. I love you." His face collapsed in a mortified grimace. " _Lord._ It just flew out."

"What in the blazes are you talking about, Q? You can't love me."

Q's eyes caught flame. "How dare you tell me what I can and cannot do. I am Q. I can do whatever I please. I tell you, I've been hopelessly infatuated with you almost from the moment I first sensed your presence in my corner of the galaxy. Every minute with you is a delight, every sound from your lips a symphony, and it sickens me. I despise you. Do you know how many times I've had to resist tossing you to the abyss?"

Jean-Luc threw the covers back and shifted to the edge of the bed, turning his back on the entity to put his face in his hands, elbows on his knees, and groan. 

"You know, this is exactly why I didn't want to tell you. You call me your friend, but a human's words are meaningless. All I'll ever be is a spectacle to you."

"Every time," Jean-Luc groaned through his palms. "Every time I think I know what to expect from you, you tilt the universe off its rotation."

"Well, it's hardly my fault your puny human brain couldn't pick up on the evident."

Jean-Luc looked at him over his shoulder, exhausted and incredulous. "And exactly which part of our entire acquaintance screamed of 'evident' romantic intent? The countless times you've belittled my intellect, or just a few minutes ago when you called me proud, arrogant and incompetent?"

Q's face was a storm, but he hadn't budged from his position, except to cross his arms over his chest. The message was clear even before he opened his mouth. "Don't flatter yourself," he spat. "I gave up on pursuing you years ago, right around the time I came to offer you a gift and found you in the throes of love with another human for the first time, when I realized you would never care for _me_. No, there has been little 'romantic intent,' as you put it, and that intent when it did exist was not so obvious. But my affection..." He raised his eyebrows. "I wanted to be a part of your crew. I offered to give up my powers to be beside you and provide my expertise so you would be _safe_. When I was turned mortal, my first thought was of you. When I faced moral quandary and one of the darkest moments of my life, I came to you—not for comfort or to be absolved of my sins, as you suspected, but simply to be in your presence one last time." 

Q leaned in suddenly, supporting himself on both arms so he could whisper heatedly, inches from his turned face, "Most recently, I risked the wrath of the Continuum to assist you in saving your pathetic race, and you know that is no small thing. Humans aren't the only ones that can be wiped from existence with the mere wave of a hand. And I did all that in spite of your unfailing, cold, duritanium-hearted rejection." He allowed these words to sit for a few heavy seconds, for Jean-Luc to take them in and all the implications therein, before finishing, almost tender, "I never tried to hide my feelings for you, Jean-Luc. My _dear_ captain. Mon coeur. Mon souffle. Mon ciel étoilé."

Jean-Luc was frowning by the end of these endearments, his frame wrought with quivering tension. "Are you mocking me? Is this some—some kind of sick game? Why tell me all this now?"

"You asked," Q said dryly.

Well. Jean-Luc looked away.

He could feel Q's eyes on him. The weight on the bed shifted, and that heavy presence fell beside him, radiating heat and menace as a breath tickled his ear. "I would give you anything," the terrifying alien and the child whispered together. "But I know from experience you would accept nothing. I've been so pleased to see you finally loosening up. Opening yourself to new possibilities. Accepting every part of yourself. Tell me... are you happy?"

Jean-Luc closed his eyes. "I have been."

A smile brushed against his neck. "Good." That smile pressed, and morphed, turning into something else altogether.

"Stop."

Q stopped. 

The room was still. The universe, too. Stars that had been gently floating by ten minutes before now stood unfazed, not even offering a solitary twinkle.

It was all starting to make sense, the pieces falling together into an image he didn't want to see. It seemed impossible, but the longer he sat with it, the more obvious it did seem that... He wasn't lying. He couldn't be. What possible explanation could there be for Q performing like this, mortifying the both of them with a made up love confession? There was none. He'd gotten his answer and it was clear. Q had loved him for years. 

Dread sat in his stomach, along with a note of intrigue and pleasure that disgusted him. Of course, there was something exciting about this. This was Q, someone who had lived for billions of years, who could have anything or anyone he wished for with the snap of his fingers, who had no doubt acquired more knowledge than Picard could even dream of. To think that he had captured his genuine interest was humbling, wondrous in its unlikeliness, and incredibly pleasing to his ego, as much as he loathed to admit it. 

But because this was Q, it was also utterly terrifying. 

"If you've been watching me..." Jean-Luc began, hesitant, "then you must know that... Dr. Crusher and I, we..."

The bed jerked slightly. "Is that your only reason for rejecting me?" Q asked almost tonelessly.

Jean-Luc looked down at his hands, in fists between his knees. "No."

Q hummed, bitter and unsurprised. "I thought as much." The room went quiet. His pajamas felt too thin against the bones of his wrists. Before too long, Q said, "You know... as a Q, I can have anything. Possession makes up the very structure of what I am. Wonders, games, treasure, plenty of infamy are all mine to enjoy... but not love. Never love. Bit of poetic justice for you, Picard."

Whether intentional or not, Jean-Luc's compassion was stoked. "I do _care_ about you, Q."

Half of a chuckle breezed against his nape. "Of course you do. You're human." A chaste, nearly cartoonish kiss smacked against the back of his ear, before Q moved back, granting him back his personal space. When next he spoke, it was with an air of empty amusement and resignation. "For my sanity's sake, I have to ask. Human sexuality is another one of those pesky little things I never could wrap my head around, so humor me. If I had appeared to you as a woman that first day, at Farpoint, do you suppose it might have... changed... anything, of this encounter?"

"No."

"Hm. Of course. With any other human, perhaps, but not you. Bit of a defect of mine, I suppose. Wanting what I can't have. That has been a dominating theme between us, hasn't it? Even without the romantic aspect." A dramatic sigh sounded behind him. "But then, just maybe it's been good for me. Maybe, we've been good for each other." A hand came up to dust across his shoulder, featherlight. "Take better care of yourself, my dear. Get some sleep."

A snap resounded through the room.

A strange, archaic nursery rhyme tinkled throughout the room as a wave of blissful dullness rushed over Jean-Luc. _Rock a bye, baby, in the starship..._ Stars drifted and bobbed outside like fireflies, and Jean-Luc's eyes rolled back in unison with his body, all at once collapsing into the inviting warmth of his pillows and sheets. "Dammit, Q," he managed before reality faded abruptly to dreams. A full cup of tea sat steaming on his bedside table.

He wouldn't wake again for twelve hours.

His tea would still be hot.

**Author's Note:**

> Title's a Casablanca reference, Idk. I thought the quote would be a fun title card after "All Good Things..." But also I just couldn't think of a title, lol. I might change it if I think of a better one, so watch for that.
> 
> I've never written a Star Trek fic before, either. Too intimidating. I really wanted to write this, though, so I went ahead and did it and it was fun. Probably doesn't slot into canon very well but I tried anyway. Let me know if you enjoyed it! :) And sweet dreams.


End file.
